


Five Fingers

by CooperCooperGo



Series: Imagine ClintCoulson Prompt Fills [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint tied to a chair (again!), Jackie Chan moves, M/M, SHIELD mission, pre-phlint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 00:24:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14249061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CooperCooperGo/pseuds/CooperCooperGo
Summary: When his new recruit is hurt in a noble (but ridiculous) attempt to protect him, Agent Phil Coulson goes full-on Jackie Chan on some asses.





	Five Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> For the Imagine Clint/Coulson prompt: Clint is bleeding on the floor with a shot to the gut, unarmed and surrounded by bad guys. On the upside, he's not alone. If only Coulson was armed with more than a chair. OR, how Coulson saves the day because he loves Jackie Chan movies.

He’d just been trying to keep their attention off his new boss, that’s all. Clint could take a few punches and kicks and stuff, sure, was used to it even. But they didn’t have to shoot him. That was just uncalled for.

His vision is kinda messed up on account of being on the floor with his cheek mashed into cold concrete and the blood in his eyes, so it’s hard to be sure, but he can see his boss tied up in the chair next to him and he thinks he’s never seen that particular expression on him before.

Agent Coulson looks _pissed_.

One of the guys that had been smacking Clint around rips off his tac helmet and slams it to the ground. “We’re supposed to interrogate these fuckers, not shoot them!”

The guy holding the gun looks sheepish. “Went off, didn’t it. I wasn’t…”

“And who taught you to hold a gun like that?!”

“In GTA they…”

“This isn’t a video game, you moron!” The guy throws up his hands, turns to scream at both his men, “I keep telling you lot, trigger discipline, _trigger discipline_! How many times do I—”

Agent Coulson stands up. Which is odd because Clint is pretty sure he’d been tied to the chair. Coulson’s face has that hard, blank look he gets when something, somewhere is about to blow the hell up. Clint hasn’t been with SHIELD long but he’s familiar with that look by now, anyway.

Coulson grabs his chair—it’s one of those cheap, molded, plastic ones with the open vents in the backrest and metal legs—takes a breath, then spins it on one leg into an underhanded grip before swinging it up to clock the video game enthusiast right under the jaw.

The guy goes down clutching his face and screaming. The arc of Coulson’s swing ends with the chair hitting the floor on all four legs with a tinny clatter. Coulson grips the seat with both hands. Clint can only see his glare in profile but one of the two guys still standing actually takes half a step back.

Coulson shoves the chair hard forward and in a blur takes two long strides after it, leaping into the seat, his legs straight out above the backrest. The chair smacks into the lead guy’s knees as Coulson hooks his leg to the side of the goon's neck, twists and brings up the other opposite, before pivoting his body violently out of the chair. The guy does a perfect three-revolution lateral spin like a big, ugly, top and hits the floor face first.

The last guy stares in dumb amazement as this accountant-looking bastard in a suit freakin’ backflips off the floor, grabs the chair by one leg and lobs it at his head.

At least the goon has the presence of mind to duck, which Clint thinks is probably the point when Coulson launches into a spinning kick which snaps the guy’s head back in what sounds like a super fatal way.

Everything stops. Coulson breathes out slowly and smoothes down his tie with one hand. Despite the gut shot and the blood loss, Clint honest to god feels his cock stir in his pants.

“Base, agent down,” Coulson says into his cufflink, “ETA?” The concealed comm burbles something but Clint isn’t listening ’cause Coulson is kneeling, easing Clint gently on to his back, carefully lifting the shredded cloth away from his wound. Clint can tell from Coulson’s slightly less dire expression that he’d gotten lucky.

“This was unnecessary, Barton,” he says briskly. “As soon as you’re out of medical I’m sending you back to interrogation class.

And you’re probably concussed, too.” Coulson lays his palm gently against Clint’s cheek, fingers curling cool and firm and strong at his jawline to support his head. He holds up his other hand. “How many fingers?”

Clint coughs a little to clear the blood out of his throat. “That would be five fingers, sir,” he croaks, “of death, apparently.”

His new boss almost smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his mouth, but it does something to his eyes that makes Clint stare, helpless to look away. He clears his throat again. “You gonna send me to Jackie Chan class too, boss?”

“Do not try to be like Jackie, Barton,” Coulson says gravely. “There is only one Jackie. Study computers instead.”

Clint’s involuntary grin splits his lip open again. It’s worth it. “Yes, sir,” he says.


End file.
